


The birth of a red rose

by EskarinaSforza



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Murder, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 16:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30108579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EskarinaSforza/pseuds/EskarinaSforza
Summary: The flowers of Aphrodite were roses, white and pure. Until one day they were stained with blood.
Relationships: Adonis/Aphrodite (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Aphrodite/Ares (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Kudos: 3





	The birth of a red rose

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [El nacimiento de una rosa roja](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27635762) by [EskarinaSforza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EskarinaSforza/pseuds/EskarinaSforza). 



She had never considered how beautiful her flower would be in a color other than white. She supposed it would be beautiful in any color, but, she thought bitterly, the red was especially beautiful on him. It was also beautiful on her. What a beauty he was still, even how sad Thanatos had already fulfilled his commission.

It was her eldest son who raised her from the meadow and saw to it that the mortal who had so abruptly ended his life received a proper burial.

The goddess of love and beauty was sad and defeated as she had never felt, because not only had she lost her beautiful lover, but she felt that she had lost trust in a loved one. She, who was forced to tie herself to a being that she despised and who returned the feeling except in the blind lust that she tried to practice with her. She, who found some comfort in the arms of a dear lover who understood her and who never made her feel bad for who she was.

He supposed that now he could tell that he had created a flower. She smiled bitterly, thinking that the goddess who was dedicated to it now would be closer to her Adonis than she. The thought of her friend made her think, death was not supposed to be negotiated, but to be called mortal instead of titan if she could not manage to negotiate with Hades about Adonis's life, otherwise she would already come up with something with Persephone

She was relieved about that at least. Now the slab in her heart was Ares. Passion had always been a link between them. How can he not remember when this quality emerged in dance movements before violence came into his life. He couldn't say that when overflowing passion turned into violence it would have terrified or disgusted him. Blood from the spill had been in her honor and she had been pleased. He had never cared that a mortal fell in his honor, or that a mortal fell simply.

That Ares was capable of slaying a mortal without a word in cold blood was no reason for revulsion. It was a part of him that he knew and that honestly made him no different from any other god. What had horrified her was that he had shed blood to take away something that made her happy. If that had been done by Hephaestus, he wouldn't have disheveled. Well, yes, he would have gone into a rage and would have taken revenge at least by destroying his precious workshop with all his creations inside. As a first step before elaborating something more painful, of course. She wouldn't be surprised if Hephaestus attacked her like that. In their own way they eventually hurt each other in an honest way.

His jealousy had overpowered him enough to consciously hurt her. Love had a thorny and harmful side, she knew better than anyone. He looked at his now scarlet-stained roses. Its flowers had always been beautiful and capable of causing pain to whoever approached it. That's why normal people used to do nothing but admire them without actually manipulating them.

She toyed with the freshly cut rose until she inadvertently spoiled it. There was a drop of ichor coming out of a wound and without further thought she threw the flower away, with disproportionate force as she uttered a terrible scream. She was tired of floral metaphors, she was not the appropriate goddess for them.

The cry echoed through the earth, nothing more heartbreaking than a cry for a lost love on the part of the goddess of it. All who knew it felt sorry for the young Adonis, but there were few who understood that it was Ares who had suffered the death of affection.


End file.
